by C. B. Currie
‘Don’t worry,’ Hyllis said. ‘I’ll protect you. I know magic.’
Thirty-six
It was a cold, still night when Vanis followed Haendric to the Bastion docks. Mist settled low over the city and Vanis felt his nose, fingers and toes growing numb. A light snow had fallen, sparse flakes dusting the rooftops, but it had been too little to settle and barely even dampened the hard winter soil beneath his worn boots.
As Brother Handers, minister to the poor and healer of the downtrodden, Father Haendric had called in all the favors he’d earned in his weeks at the House of Enduring Grace. There would be a boat stopping in quietly at Bastion’s riverside wharf, guards would look the other way and as smuggled cargo was offloaded and new goods and people loaded on, Vanis would put aboard, bound for the capital, two days downriver.
They arrived at the southern gate, the river gate, in the late evening and well after curfew. The dark brown habits they wore helped conceal them as they skirted gardens and stayed in shadowed side alleys, but they did not see any guards or watchmen along the way. The priory was on the north side of the road and across from it, against the walls, the barracks where Haendric had told him Algwyn had been imprisoned before his execution. There were bales of hay awaiting transport, crates of apples, barrels of ale and sacks of oats and flour, and a small pile of wrapped bodies. Vanis was not especially glad to be leaving Haendric again after only just finding his old tutor alive, but after spending days at the sick house and seeing the ravages of the Scourge first hand and up close, he was relieved to be getting away from the city unscathed.
They came to the River Gate, a pair of large double doors built in oak and bound in iron, with a smaller, man-sized door set into the wall to the side. The gate was closed but the side door was open and several guardsmen milled about. One came to meet them. He was dressed in the blue and yellow livery of lord Dorand’s house, the uniform of both the watch and the lord’s armed retinue when it marched.
‘Brother Handers,’ he said, greeting Father Haendric. Nobody in Bastion knew his real name. ‘The boat has not arrived yet, but the dockside tavern is safe. Best to wait in there a while.’
They were escorted through the door to the riverbank. It was surprisingly wide and cluttered with buildings: warehouses, fishermen’s shacks and a tavern. A dirt trail wound its way through the houses and to a couple of piers some distance away. There was no noise from the river flowing gently by, but Vanis could now clearly hear laughter and even music coming from the tavern. It was a ramshackle building, leaning slightly to one side, but the wooden framework and daub walls looked sturdy enough. There was a tile roof on the old building and thatch atop a newer third storey built haphazardly atop the first two. A swinging sign outside proclaimed it The Red Goose.
‘I buried two of his brothers and one daughter,’ Haendric said of the guard. ‘But his wife and son recovered, so he was thankful. I don’t know why the Scourge strikes some and leaves others untouched. He never even got a sniffle himself.’
‘Nor have I,’ Vanis remarked.
‘Let’s hope it stays that way, boy,’ Haendric said, and pushed open the tavern door.
A few patrons noted them enter and returned to their drink. A man in his middle years was playing a sailors’ tunes by the fireside in one corner and a small circle of locals had pulled up chairs around him. Vanis noted the black cloaks of two Guardians of the Faith. The tables were short and long, square and round, heavy and light, and the chairs were a haphazard collection that looked to be made by dozens of different carpenters. The bar was a large box-shaped assembly in the center of the taproom, with stools around it and several people working at once. A handful of painted harlots flitted from table to table flirting with sailors, merchants and other patrons. The tavern was run-down to be sure, but also was the liveliest building in the city that Vanis had seen since he’d arrived.
Haendric went straight to the counter and Vanis followed dutifully. He was nervous from all the skulking about in alleyways, even though nothing had happened on the walk over. It was Haendric’s demeanor that worried him, for the monk was constantly looking over his shoulder and always overly cautious when speaking to folk. It gave no comfort to Vanis that he still carried the wrapped shortsword for he was still no better at using a weapon.
‘Brother Handers,’ said one of the barmen. He was probably about thirty, with a greasy smock, thin red hair, a pock-marked face and almost no chin.
‘Eddyl,’ Haendric greeted him, ‘Is the little one recovering well?’
‘A miracle, Brother,’ the barman nodded gratefully. He could barely conceal his smile.
‘Heaven’s mysteries often seem so, but some people are just stronger than others.’
‘You’re too modest,’ Eddyl admonished, then looked around before leaning forward. ‘The black cloaks were looking for recruits. My cousin in the Watch says they’re running press gangs for men to join the siege of Juniper Keep.’
‘Siege?’
‘You saw the troops they assembled outside the East Gate a few days ago? Well, that’s where they’ve gone. Lord Dorand has sworn anew to the King. He has said he’ll bring the Knights of the Chalice to heel. In the south, the King’s army has marched to meet Lord Marwynd’s. They say he has raised ten thousand men.’
‘And his cousin?’ Haendric asked.
‘About the same I hear. It will be the biggest battle Wesgard has seen in a hundred years.’
‘Practically the only one, except against the Northmen. Is anyone else catching our boat?’
‘A couple over there. Deserters I think. Some others.’
Haendric only glanced where the barman nodded, but Vanis took a long look. A pair of scarred brutes in tattered clothes drank around a small round corner table. One of them registered his look with a cold glance then returned to his own quiet drinking. He did not relish the thought of sharing a boat with them. They reminded him of the ruffians who’d tried to rob him when he’d just left Havenside. The thought of the old priory made him wonder if those tall, bent pines that had ever watched over the cloisters still stood, or if they’d been burnt down as well. He was jolted out of his daydream by Haendric’s hand.
‘Come, boy let’s sit.’
They took a table in another corner and tried to stay inconspicuous. It was hard to do when so many of the folk knew Haendric – Brother Handers – by sight, and there were frequent nods and greetings.
Vanis watched as sailors and tradesmen jostled for the attention of the whores and longed for a woman’s touch again. Not that he’d spend his coin on one of these poxy slatterns, not that he had much to spare in any case.
‘Why do people still rut when everyone about is sick?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Haendric answered, looking mildly irritated by the nature of the question. ‘I tell them not to, that closeness seems to increase the chance of taking ill themselves, but in hard times, it seems the harlots do even more business than usual. I suppose people have a desire to live more when they might die tomorrow.’
The priest’s voice trailed off wistfully, as it usually did on the few occasions he spoke of love or coupling.
‘Is that why are there so many people here?’
‘River traffic never really stopped. Smugglers and traders pay the guards and they look the other way. Lord Dorand has never been the most attentive administrator and under him men have found many ways to make their coin. I suspect the reeve had something to do with it. Everyone can be bought these days.’
One whore finally made her sale and led her man upstairs. The barman brought cold bread rolls and cheese and they sipped ale from pewter tankards, while nibbling on the dry and crusty buns. The Guardians left shortly after, leering at guests and notably, without paying for their drink. One took a long, unkind look at Vanis and Haendric as he passed them.
Haendric leaned over the rickety round table and spoke in a low voice, barely above a whisper, that made it hard to hear him in the din of the taproo
m. ‘Tell me again, what you’ll do when you reach the capital.’
Vanis sighed. He had repeated it often since the night before. ‘I’m to find Father Pagliori at the Great Library. I’ll take the book straight there.’
‘And if he’s dead or in gaol?’
‘Then I’m to use the money you gave me to buy passage to Venchy. Prior Veraud at Seven Isles Monastery.’ He patted the belt that had been wrapped around his waist and contained many coins, each wrapped in cloth to stop them jingling. Haendric frowned at the gesture and hissed at him to stop and Vanis looked about wondering whether anyone had noticed.
‘And if you can’t get help there, bury it, mark the spot and come back. It’s too dangerous to keep.’
The measures were drastic but Haendric was paying for the trip and Vanis did want to see the city. He thought he might hide the book anywhere or abandon it altogether if he had to. Now that he knew Haendric at least lived, his main goal was to go south, and quickly. He’d tried to convince the priest to come along or flee the city, but Haendric was stubborn in his resolution to stay. Vanis couldn’t help that, but he could help himself.
It was not long after that the barman returned and told them the ship had arrived. Haendric nodded and Vanis stood, the same time as the rough-looking pair and a young couple. The woman was very young, her head was wrapped in a scarf and her belly was large and rounded, indicating she would give birth soon. They were probably elopers, for the nervous young man with her looked no older than she, and no more ready to raise a child. Vanis was thankful at least he didn’t have children to worry about, and thought he might never want to. The six made their way to the door wordlessly and out into the cold night again.
It was only a short walk to one of the piers, along a muddy track, past the large stone warehouses and a handful of fishing huts. The two hard men spoke in low voices but the rest were quiet. A sailor carrying a blazing torch met them at the wooden pier where a large, wide and shallow-hulled river craft had been docked. The crew was busy loading and unloading sacks, kegs and wooden crates. A brisk trade carried on even in times of plague. He also noticed that despite the cold, the slow-flowing River Burr still smelled fetid and rank.
It was almost as if it had been timed that way, and it might have been planned, but as though his inner fears were being given flesh, Vanis looked up the pathway back to the walls and saw several black-clad Guardians returning. They walked purposefully toward the pier, escorted by half a dozen watchmen and there was nowhere to run to and everyone just stood, silently, fearfully and waited. The sailors stopped their loading. Vanis noted that the watchmen who’d let them through the gate were there and looked guilty, like dogs that had just been chastised.
The leader stepped forward. ‘Nice night for a bit of riverboating,’ he said. His accent was southern, from Castlereach or thereabouts. ‘Going fishing, or running somewhere?’
Nobody answered.
‘Well never mind,’ he continued, ‘we have somewhere for a lot of you to go. Lord Dorand needs men for the coming campaign. We have spared all the guards we can from the city.’
The armed group immediately separated the two fighting types, who did not protest at all. Vanis imagined they’d been pressed into service many times in their lives. They looked the young father up and down and then at his pregnant girl and dismissed them. Vanis wouldn’t have picked the boy for a fighter either. Then they turned to the pair of monks.
‘Heard about you lot,’ sneered the Guardian. He was a tall man with black stubble and a tone that said he was used to commanding. ‘You old monks need a young one to keep your cots warm at night. Bunch of arse-ticklers if you ask me.’
‘He’s Brother Handers,’ said one of the other Guardians, a local man. Notably, the town watchmen in blue and gold practically all knew him already and had so far stayed silent.
‘’Handers?
‘From the sick house in The Gutters,’ His man confirmed.
‘We will need doctors and clerics to minister to His Lordships troops,’ the leader said, ‘step forward Brother Monk.’
Haendric looked at Vanis sternly, with eyes that told him he mustn’t protest. He stepped ahead of everyone and the Guardian looked him up and down. ‘You’re old, but you’ll have to do. Must be strong if the Scourge hasn’t taken you yet. Now what’s your arse-boy carrying in his bag?’
Immediately, one of the Guardians stepped over and began to tug at the goods that the two ruffians were carrying. Vanis had practiced what to do if he were searched. The book was wrapped in clothing in the bag, but made the luggage obviously heavy. He placed the bag on the ground and opened its drawstring, allowing anyone to look inside, without picking it up, which would betray the weight. But as he bent, the wrapped sword fell from his shoulder and must have hit a stone poking out of the ground for it issued a muffled clink where the heavy pommel connected. The guard immediately seized and unwrapped it.
‘What’s this? Planning on some robbery, Brother? Vagabondage? Or looking to run away and join the fleet?’
‘It’s mine,’ croaked Haendric. We carry it for protection on the road.’
‘Chapelmen carrying swords about?’ The leader scoffed. ‘Times are darker than even the archdeacon says.’
The guard who’d taken the sword looked into the open bag and saw nothing but a bundle of clothing and a small leather coinpurse placed on top to distract anyone from the much larger sum that Vanis carried about his midriff. He prodded the bag with his boot and sniffed dismissively before moving on to search the others, apparently not under orders to take any money and too self-important to stoop to robbery.
‘The army needs weapons,’ said the leader as he was passed the sword, ‘so we’ll take this. If your pretty boy here needs protection on his journey he can sell pardons or prayers, or pawn his arse for all I care. Now the rest of you get out of my sight.’
And without ceremony Haendric was led away. The men on the docks went back to their quiet nighttime loading as the pregnant girl sobbed tears of relief in her husband’s arms, and Vanis stood alone again, the bag with the book at his feet, waiting for his boat to leave.
Thirty-seven
Those who fell sick were left by the side of the road. One girl taken from steading in the Breadlands couldn’t stop bleeding after they were done with her and Drunith could not save her. Some showed signs of the Scourge and others just a fever. Hyllis looked over some of the fever victims but only one seemed to recover. The men revered him for that. Caera couldn’t see what was so magical about it when in her own village she had seen some fall ill only to recover before the Scourge took them, but to the simple minds of these brutes, it must have seemed nothing short of a miracle.
Yet Caera had done more than just sleep beside him the third night. Then again the fourth and this, the fifth. It had not been planned at first but she realized that perhaps other men might notice if he did not seem to be bedding her and they’d figure she was available for their own use. In any case his hands had been growing more persistent each night. It could always have been worse, so she gave herself to him. He had been surprisingly gentle and fairly quick, confessing it had been some time since he’d last taken a lover. He swore he had never joined in the ravishing when his gang had caught women before. That was something he said he could not take to.
He was attractive enough, despite having come to her under such dire circumstances. He was not simple, seemed to know something about the world and had the smell of the open road about him, the same wandering spirit that she’d found in Vanis, and she loathed to admit, the Northman Algas. But whereas the Northman had been moody and bitter, and Vanis almost frivolous in nature, Hyllis showed some maturity beyond his years, mixed with a genuine affection for the weak. How he had ended up with such a gang of vagabonds she could not understand.
She left his bedroll quietly in the dark and made her way past the smoldering embers of Hyllis’s fire to a cluster of bramble and other low bushes. It was bitterly cold, but she ne
eded to relive herself. The rest of the camp was asleep, although other fires flickered still here and there. There she stopped, looked around and made sure she was alone.
A big, calloused hand appeared from the darkness behind her and caught her around the mouth, smothering a gasp of shock. Another arm held her firm around the waist and she dared not scream out, for fear of rousing the sellswords. Hyllis might be her protector, but he was only one man among many and smaller than a lot of them. She doubted their fear of his magic would protect her. Her only protection was her silence she hoped if she kept quiet it would just be the one of them to take her that night and he would not harm her afterwards.
‘Caera,’ soothed Berryck’s whispering voice. ‘Be quiet, it’s me.’
She whipped around as his grip relaxed. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Rescuing you.’ He hissed. ‘We can get away right now, you and me, let’s go!’
‘They’ll…they’ll catch us,’ she stuttered. She would have appreciated the idea a rescue but Berryck seemed hardly the man to do it. He was barely a man at all, and had no idea about fighting. He might have marched with Jandryl’s militia but that did not make him a warrior. They wouldn’t get far before being stopped. Her fate would be assured then and only the Prophet knew what they’d do to him.
‘You don’t have to be afraid of him,’ Berryck went on, and it occurred to her she was not afraid of Hyllis at all. ‘I’ll get you out of here and we can make our way back home.’
Home? She would return to Brookleith a disgraced woman. Everyone would have an answer for the bastard in her belly then. They’d pity her and tell dark tales about her for years to come. Who would wed her then? Probably still Berryck, out of pity and foolish loyalty.
‘Go back to sleep Berryck!’ She hissed back. ‘Before anyone sees!’
